Medal of Honor: Western Front
by WeirdDutchGuy
Summary: The revamp of Sarge I'm sure you've been waiting for. Join my character on the beaches of Normandy, the hedgerows of Bastogne and the carnage in the Ardennes as he strives to overthrow Nazi Germany! Finally updated, chapter 2 up.
1. Sarge

**Disclaimer:** The Medal of Honor series belongs to EA Games, and will never be my exclusive possession.

**Rating:** **T**, for excessive violence and gore.

**AN:** Finally the long awaited revision of Sarge. You've waited patiently for this, and I hope it'll be just as popular. Even with far less chapters Sarge still beats my other stories with hits and reviews. I hope this one gets the same attention. It'll focus more on the action and hopefully an equal amount on the story. It's hard writing about First Person Shooters, since anyone who plays such games will notice the enemy is almost always far more easier to kill than you and far more brainless too. Not here though, I want this to be realistic. My character will not be a god and can be hurt. And as far as I can help it, he will be hurt… mwahahahaha! And don't be surprised if this story at some point stops following history and starts its own route. This is supposed to be fiction, not another history story.

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**Medal of Honor: Jump into Chaos**  
By WeirdDutchGuy

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**Chapter One: Sarge ****

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_I watched him die… _

_I watched him die, and did nothing to help…_

_He just lay there, in a puddle of his own blood, mixed with that of countless others. His heart was still pumping, it had to have, because the blood just kept on coming._

_I slipped into a sort of trance, along with so many others that day. The sound of the machinegun fire slowly faded away, the world became nothing but a blur. I didn't feel guilt. How could I have helped him? By running over? By getting myself shot? By dying? No! No more death, I would live! And I thought training had been hell… Training hadn't even been close to resembling this hell. How could anything possible resemble this? Sarge had always told us to keep our shit together, but now, Sarge was gone, and so was our hope. Our hope lay there in its own blood and had just given its last breath. It had been with us since our first training until just now. Our hope was Sarge, and now he was dead. But I would live… _

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As I slid down the slippery net into our very own metal coffin, also known as Higgins boat, I had a nagging feeling in the back of my head saying this was going to be anything but a practice landing. The practice landings had been hard at points, and people had been killed during them. People killed during practice, imagine that. Yes, live rounds were fired, but they weren't supposed to be fired in our direction. Today was different, because today was the real thing. Today was June the 6th, 1944. D-day. It would've been yesterday if it hadn't been for that storm on the Channel. They'd be firing live rounds again today, but this time deliberately aiming in our direction. Why couldn't Hitler have stayed in Germany? We wouldn't have had to clean up his mess if he had. I let myself drop the last few feet, carefully timing my drop with the rise of the sea. I had seen what happened to another soldier who timed poorly. He broke both his legs when he dropped several meters onto the hard steel floor of the landing craft. After landing on the boat my gear was tossed down and nearly fell into the ocean. Sarge grabbed it just before it fell over.

"Here you go son, try hanging onto it next time. You'll need this." I nodded as I grabbed the bag and slung it over my shoulder. Grabbing my M1 I made my way to the front of the boat, if it could be called such, and sat down next to my friend Tucker. He grunted to acknowledge my presence, and then returned to whatever it was he was thinking about. Glancing around I noticed several soldiers hanging over the edge of the boat and I was glad about taking that whole bottle of anti seasickness pills earlier. Sarge wasn't affected one bit; he was never affected by anything. There were times we wondered if even bullets could take him down. As the last of our group climbed onboard the boat started moving towards a growing group of other landing craft.

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It was now 5:30 am and the first wave of storm troopers, namely us, was on its way to the beaches. The official landing time was 6:30 am; it would take us one long excruciating hour to get there. Contrary to what normally happened during a drill, everybody kept his mouth shut. The only sounds were the clashing of the waves against the square front, and the monotone rumbling of the boat's engine. We were heading for the beach codenamed Omaha, a crescent shaped stretch of beach between the French towns of Vierville and Colleville.

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5:50 am… 

We'd been slowly making our way to the beach for twenty minutes, when suddenly all the warships opened up on the coast. Dozens of battleships, cruisers and destroyers rained heavy caliber shells down on the hopefully unsuspecting Germans. As this rain of steel soared over our heads we cheered. With all that firepower, surely there would be little left of Hitler's Atlantic Wall. Not enough to stop us certainly. Now a new sound mixed with that of the firing fleet. Thousands of planes flew at every altitude, wingtip to wingtip, taking no notice of the rain of steel flying below them. First the fighters, followed by huge formations of bombers and heavy bombers. These and the naval bombardment would create lots of craters for us to hide in when we reached the beach. I myself, and all my companions, were thinking the same thing. We'd hate to be the Germans right now.

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6:15 am… 

We were now less than a mile from the beach. Over our heads the naval and aerial bombardment continued. The explosions coming from the shore were now clearly distinguishable above the loud roar of the diesel engines. Surprisingly, the guns of the Atlantic Wall remained silent. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad. As the wide square sterns of the assault ships continued to slam into the waves, we wondered why the guns weren't firing yet. We were sure we're right in their sights now. It made no sense, but we didn't mind. At least they weren't shooting us yet. Let them wait.

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6:20 am… 

It was time for the amphibious tanks, built for this sole day, to be let in the water and make their own way to shore. One of the transports let its ramp down on a sea mine, blowing off the entire front and hurling a tank over 30 meters high. The other tanks were put in the water without incident. As they started making their way to the beach, a catastrophe struck. Because of the pounding of the waves, the canvas which held them afloat tore and the 27 tanks headed for our part of the beach sunk to the bottom of the Channel. Seeing this, the other transports destined for other parts of the beach wisely decided to keep their tanks on board and drop them off on the beach. But our tanks had been lost.

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6:30 am, H-Hour… 

We were now close enough to see the obstacles on the beach. The deadly maze of steel and concrete was just on the water's edge. They were everywhere, connected by barbed wire and most had mines attached. They were every bit as vicious and cruel as we'd expected. Behind this defense lay the beach, totally deserted with no movement at all. We came ever closer, now only 500 meters from the shore… 450 meters… still no enemy fire. The bombardment shifted to targets further inland as the boats continued to make their way to the shore. As the first boats came 400 meters from the beach, the German artillery, with guns nobody had thought could've possibly survived, opened up. Large columns of water sprayed up where heavy shells landed in the water. All over the six kilometer stretch of beach fire was now raining down on our landing crafts. As I looked ahead, I could only wonder what would happen if those ramps went down, the sound of ricocheting machinegun bullets clearly coming from our ramp reaching my ears. Everybody was looking at the ramp, when the boat next to us disappeared in a big explosion, throwing debris and body parts everywhere. The captain of our LCA steered towards the survivors, but a lieutenant told him to keep going for the beach; this ship was not a rescue vessel. Though he snapped it harshly we all saw he was having trouble turning his back on the now drowning survivors. I peered over the ramp, trying to make out the easiest way to the shingle. It all looked the same though. It all looked equally impossible now.

"Keep your heads down! Stay behind the ramp and don't peek over the edge if you want to keep that melon of yours!" Sarge yelled while he pulled me and Tucker down. "30 seconds!" the captain yelled. "Right, listen up! Use the craters and obstacles for cover! Don't bunch up! Get off the beach as soon as possible!" Sarge continued yelling advice while the seconds ticked away. The sound of bullets smashing into our ramp became louder and more frequent, as did the water columns rising from the sea. Our boat now stopped moving and the ramp slammed down onto the water. We let out a loud battle cry as we jumped into the water, not that the Germans could hear it, but it boosted our confidence. All over the beach ramps went down and men jumped into the water to slowly make their way to solid ground. I jumped next to an obstacle and went to take cover behind it. I suddenly saw the mine attached to part facing the sea and decided I'd find myself another obstacle.

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Bullets whizzed by as I rushed from one obstacle to another, slowly getting closer to the sandy beach. Cries of pain entered my ears, mixing with the constant explosions and gunfire. I wouldn't have been surprised if I went deaf right there, but I didn't. I saw Tucker and somehow managed to reach him just as we got to the actual beach. 

"Bill! Wait up!" His real name was William Tucker, but we called him Bill on his own request. He turned behind 'his' obstacle and grinned at me. "You can't possibly be enjoying this!" I exclaimed wide-eyed. He nodded, keeping his grin. "This is what I signed up for mate! Action!" As he said that we heard the whistle of an incoming mortar. Even though he seemed inhuman, enjoying this, he covered like a normal human being as the large explosion ripped up a part of beach almost right next to us. "We need to keep going, Sarge said he was going to wait for us at the shingle!" With that he stood up and ran for another hedgehog. I jumped up to run after him, but a machine-gunner on the ridge seemed to disagree with that idea as he started spraying rounds at me. I let myself drop again, waiting for him to let up. When he did I made a dash for the shingle, but I had lost track of Tucker.

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As I fell back first behind the cover of the shingle, in between some other soldiers, I noticed the carnage on the beach. Hundreds of bodies littered the shoreline, while destroyed LCAs and a lone tank that hadn't sunk were burning ferociously. I looked around, noticing several of the troops with me didn't even have their gear or guns with them. Almost half of them were wounded in one way or another. A group of men were now making the dash for the safety our cover provided, but the German gunners opened fire the second they stood up. Most of them just dropped down dead, but one of them was literally cut in half. His legs were still standing, supported by the obstacle he was covering behind moments earlier, his upper half dropped to the sand while he had an empty look on his face. Not even the flying body parts had affected me like this, as I had to turn around to prevent puking on the spot. 

My eyes then fell on the most disturbing sight, at least for me. Lying there, on the beach, hands grasping his stomach while staring up to the sky, was Sarge. He was clearly on his last few breaths. He just lay there, in a puddle of his own blood, mixed with that of countless others. His heart was still pumping; it had to have, because the blood just kept on coming. I watched him die. I looked on and did nothing to help. I slipped into a sort of trance, along with so many others today. The sound of the machinegun fire slowly faded away, the world became nothing but a blur. I didn't feel guilt. How could I have helped him? By running over? By getting myself shot? By dying? And I thought training had been hell…

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Training hadn't even been close to resembling this hell. How could anything possible resemble this? Sarge had always told us to keep our shit together, but now, Sarge was gone, and so was our hope. Our hope lay there in its own blood and had just given its last breath. It had been with us since our first training until just now. Our hope was Sarge, and now he was dead. 

I had volunteered for the army after turning 18. Tucker and I had just met each other in the recruitment office when Sarge came in to recruit for his outfit. After brief introductions we were shipped off to boot camp. Forced to march all day, crawl a good portion and push-up about half. We then learned how to work all weapons. Through all the torment, our Sergeant had been there. He'd been there, a strict drill sergeant perhaps, but he had been our support as well. After that, we were shipped to England in a converted ocean liner. We then got to sit on our bum for a full year, with the occasional practice landing. During the final practice run, the most realistic one, several people got killed. Those had been a handful, now there would be hundreds.

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Suddenly I was being prodded. I looked around, seeing nothing but vague silhouettes. I was being yelled at. "…. Com- n! Sn-… of it! Hey! Snap out of it!" It was Tucker, as I could now see. I could see the carnage all around me, and I could smell death in the air. But it wouldn't be getting me, I hadn't come this far to die now. 

"Good to see you're still with me mate. Listen, this crazy Colonel says he can blow the blockade over at the beach exit. He said to gather everyone that can walk." Tucker said as he looked me over. "You're fine, and you even got your weapon. Good, come on, I don't want to miss the action!" With that he ran off to a growing group of soldiers. Well, everything was better than staying on this beach, so I followed him. Shortly after, several loud explosions were heard, followed by a battle cry and hundreds of soldiers trying to squeeze through. Yes, I would be alright, I would live…

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_To Be Continued… __

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AN:** I hope you really enjoyed that. It took me a while to write it. Not the longest I've ever written, but still… I'm not sure what way to go though. It may or may not follow history, I have yet to decide what one. Anyway, please grant me the small reward I crave for and press that "Go!" button next to "Submit Review", will you? Constructive criticism is appreciated, and flames will be used to light my barbeque. Compliments will be framed and hung over my bed, so that I'll be inspired to write on, thank you.

WeirdDutchGuy


	2. The Morning After

**Disclaimer:** The Medal of Honor series belongs to EA Games, and will never be my exclusive possession. 

**Rating:** **T**, for excessive violence and language.

**AN:** It's a crime! After taking out multiple punctuations, apteryxes, hyphens, email addresses and website URLs, the administrators of this site have now BANNED review responses! This is a dark time, as now, in order to get an answer, every single last one of you will have to register an account to get a reply. As such I will not discuss the reviews I got in here. And that takes me to another point… where are you lot? I know there are more than four people reading this! The best review has been framed and hung above my head though, so that every morning when I wake up I'll be remembered to write this story. I can hear you all say "Get on with it!" though, so now I present…

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Medal of Honor: Jump into Chaos**  
By WeirdDutchGuy

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**Chapter Two: The Morning After

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I won't watch it anymore..._

_I won't watch you die..._

_I won't watch anyone die…_

_I won't let them…_

_Not after that muck up on the beach. I won't tolerate anymore deaths among my friends. I will fight for all I'm worth and then some. Funny from a guy who's barely fired a shot yet, huh? Well, it'll be all the more surprising to them…

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We cleared the area around the beachhead swiftly once we actually got off the beach. It was said that the other landings had all gone according to plan, and that our beachhead was the weak link in the whole. In fear of an enemy counter attack, and fully aware of the fact that a German armor division was nearby, our company was sent out on a large scale scouting mission. Our orders were simple: scout the countryside and destroy any opposing forces. Should we encounter friendly forces, like men of the airborne divisions, or the British landing on the other beaches, we were expected to take them with us or help them should they not have accomplished their objectives by then.

After having marched for several miles already without seeing anything remotely German, I was beginning to suspect they'd buggered off. Still, recon had claimed that a German mobilized division was headed this way, so I kept my eyes open. Tucker made his way over to me and took another good look around before he nudged me.

"You'd think the superior race wouldn't run from battle. I say the cowardly dogs high tailed it out of here." He almost sounded disappointed, then again, that wouldn't have been so surprising. He'd been frustrated after not even seeing a single German, let alone shoot one, during the landing. Suddenly we heard movement to the shrubs at our left. A dozen guns swerved towards the sound as it got louder.

"Hold it, don't shoot!" A voice shouted from the other side. A scout from the British 50th division that landed on Gold beach climbed through the bushes as we relaxed our holds. "Thank God you actually landed. We were starting to think you wouldn't show."

"Yeah, we've had some delays during landing. Anyway, how're things going over here?" Our captain asked.

"Not very good. We didn't have a lot of problems at first, but last night they hit us hard with tanks and other armor. Our lines are just about a mile or two down the road. Jerry is regrouping in a town south from here. We're only a scouting group and we're running out of ammunition, if they come at us now we're done for." The man responded. We stood there waiting for orders as the captain took in the information.

"I'll get in touch with HQ and have them send reinforcements. In the mean time my company will help strengthen your position." He said, after which the scout disappeared again. Taking out a pen and a notebook, he scribbled some words down and tore off the page. "Sergeant Miller, your squad will take this message to the beachhead ASAP. Hand it to the highest ranking officer you can find."

"Yes sir!"

"Right, the rest of you, follow me." And so we set off again. Miller's squad ran off to the beach, and thus safety. We got to shoot at tanks. _"Oh joy."_ I thought sarcastically. It didn't take us long to cover the two miles to the improvised British line. We were immediately approached by a lieutenant with a relieved look on his face.

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"Finally, it's good to see friendly forces for once. Captain, our southwest flank was weakened by last night's attacks. If you could move your forces there…" The captain nodded, taking the hint. He ordered all of us to the far side of the lines, where we took positions in the manholes dug by men I presumed were now dead. I jumped into the first hole I could find and made myself as comfy as I could. Our position could've been worse, but it wasn't the grandest defense ever. The Gold landings had gone considerably better than ours, but even they didn't manage to complete all of their objectives. I could just barely see the church tower of that town the scout spoke about sticking out above the horizon. That meant we were facing south, facing the tanks.

I had a bad feeling about this, but we had to wait for HQ to send more troops before we could attack. So far I hadn't even taken aim at a person before, and now I might be required to pull the trigger. Tucker was in a small trench to my left. I figured he'd be excited, but instead he was peering over the top of his trench with seriousness I didn't expect of him.

All my thinking almost made me miss the odd rumble in the distance, but I caught on moments later. Engine sounds. Several shouts went down the line, and then suddenly everything was quiet. As the rumble came closer I heard Tucker whisper something along the lines of 'I see them' harshly. The next moment I too could see the enemy. The front of a Panzer III came around the dense bushes in front of me, and several German shouts came from that direction too. The whole tank was now clearly visible as it slowly rolled along the road. From my low position I could look under it and I saw lots and lots of boots walking along behind it.

The sound of the engine grew ever stronger as the tank lowered its barrel and took aim at one of the holes I knew held at least one person. The next moment my ears almost popped as the muzzle spew fire and smoke combined with a deafening bang. The almost instant explosion that followed was even louder and knocked out my hearing for a few seconds. I didn't even hear the scream of the guy inside the hole. Then all hell broke loose. The Germans behind the tank ran out shooting after one of us tossed a grenade behind it. Guess I wasn't the only one that noticed.

Taking aim I prepared myself to defend my life by taking that of others. One of the Germans spotted me and raised his rifle. In a split second I had reacted. The recoil of my M1 Garand rifle sent me back first into the side of my manhole as I watched the German plummet to the ground. I stayed still for a moment, taking in the fact that I just killed someone. Suddenly another German fell down before me as Tucker cursed at me for not paying attention.

"Damn it, watch your back mate!" He yelled as he perforated another German with his Thompson sub-machinegun. Snapping back to reality I repaid the favor he just did me by shooting a German that was about to throw a grenade in his trench. Maybe this killing wouldn't be too bad, as long as it didn't come down to close combat. Neither of us noticed the tank had reloaded by now, and was still barreling towards our lines. The muzzle flared again as another explosion ripped the air. This time I did hear the scream as the shell ripped through someone. That tank had to go. I pulled out a grenade and jerked out the pin before tossing it on top of the tank. To my annoyance the explosion seemed to do little damage, but then I noticed the smoke coming from the back. The engine was done for after my grenade landed right on the air vent. But the stupid thing could still shoot, as it made clear seconds later by turning the barrel towards _me_. After nearly peeing myself I ducked down as far into my hole as I could and waited for almost certain death.

I heard the explosion and felt the earth shake, but there was no pain. To my great surprise all my limbs were still attached, and the awful sound of the dieing engine was gone. I popped up to take a look and found the tank to be reduced to a burning wreck, and the little Germans that were still alive retreated. Cheers came from behind me as a Sherman tank rolled towards the wreckage, its barrel still smoking. I thanked God at that very moment. The HQ had sent reinforcements after Miller delivered the message. They also sent new orders: take the town at all costs.

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"Hey Bill, I take it you're quite happy now. You finally got to shoot some Krauts." I said to Tucker, who only grunted in reply. "That almost sounds as if you hated it."

"I doubted… I actually doubted when I had that first guy lined up. And when I did pull the trigger… don't get me wrong, I still think we should kill the lot of 'm, but it didn't feel like I expected. Not at all…" He replied after a few moments. I was shocked at his words; this wasn't the same Tucker talking. He must've noticed my open eyed and open mouthed gaze, because he chuckled and straightened out before going on. "But did you see the look on that guy's face after I made a vent hole in his skull? Classic mate, it was absolutely classic!"

His laugh sounded normal, but I knew it was forced. William Tucker, who signed up for the killing and the action, wasn't all that tough anymore. Suddenly I pitied him, but the feeling was swiftly driven away as we started marching. The past hour we'd been preparing a small offensive on the town. After being reinforced with two Sherman tanks and a full company of infantry the man in charge had decided it was time to move out. I didn't know an awful lot about that town, other than the name. Trévières is what it was called, but other than that, and the fact that most likely a German armor section was garrisoned there, I didn't know anything at all.

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The road was just like any other in this part of France, flanked on both sides by large mounds of compact earth, with tall and almost impregnable hedgerows on top. I didn't really feel like being surprised or ambushed right now, so I kept my eyes open as we marched on. We came to a small stone bridge after a short while, the sign next to it saying we were about to cross _l'Aure_, a small stream. According to the map it was also the only crossing in the direct area, thus making this little bridge quite important to us. There were several houses along the road just after the bridge, marking the start of the town. Another sign caught my interest, it read _'Rue du Pont De La Barre'_. I didn't know what it meant, as my French was horrible, but I had a gut feeling this was the main street, since most little towns only have one big road running straight through.

"Right, listen up everyone." The captain started as he called over the squad leaders. "I need one squad to go and see if the coast is clear. We haven't really seen much Germans up till now, so they might've done the sensible thing and ran for it. But I'm not willing to risk the whole company should this be an ambush."

Basically, it came down to this. One of the squads had to 'volunteer' to scout the town on what could well be a one way trip. Needless to say, Lady Luck showed her ugly side and my squad got picked. Our new sergeant apologized, saying he couldn't possibly know what straw was longer. But we shouldn't worry; the others would come get us when the shooting started.

"How reassuring…" Tucker muttered as we started to move down the road. There were only eight of us, nine if you counted the sergeant. If there were Germans in the town, no doubt we'd get our asses whooped. As we moved further the houses became more plentiful and stood closer together, and soon we found ourselves flanked on both sides by continuous rows. But we saw nothing German, and certainly no armor. We stopped when we reached a split in the road. The main road went on southeast bound, and a smaller road pointed southwest.

"Strange, maybe they did run off." One of our riflemen dared say as he scratched underneath his helmet. As if the American accent triggered it, windows shot open and gun barrels pointed out at us an instant later. We didn't stick around long enough to be shot as we dashed for any cover. Tucker and I dove inside a small porch, followed seconds later by the sound of bullets imbedding themselves in the concrete. The man who made the comment lay in the middle of the road as a small puddle of blood started to form around him. Tucker cursed profusely as he watched him. I wouldn't watch it anymore, I wouldn't watch them die, and I wouldn't let them. Not after the muck up on the beach. _"I won't tolerate anymore deaths among my friends. I will fight for all I'm worth and then some."_ I thought as I looked at the body. Though I thought it was funny coming from a guy who'd barely fired a shot yet, I thought it would be all the more surprising to them. I stepped back as far as my cover would allow before lunging at the door, putting all my weight on my right shoulder. The door gave way on the second try and I fell hard on the floor of the house, drawing a strange look from Tucker.

"You coming Bill? No sense in waiting outside." I said to him as I picked up my rifle and cautiously made my way through the lower floor of the small house. Just like the town it seemed abandoned at first, but as I reached the stair I heard some hurried shouts from above. They sounded German, though my control of the language was not good enough to decipher what was said. Motioning Tucker over I readied a grenade. He caught on and prepared to rush the stairs with his Thompson on full automatic. After pulling the pin I counted two seconds before throwing it up the stairs, which should be enough to prevent them from tossing it back down. Some surprised cries came from the top, along with a loud boom which shook the house. Tucker rushed as he yelled out loud and disappeared into the cloud of dust that was now coming down.

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"Clear!" That was my signal. The top floor was a mess. The floor adorned a large scorch mark, and all the furniture was blown aside. Wood splinters covered the ground and the dust cloud still hadn't settled. Sitting in a window was a loaded MG-42, the barrel still hot. Slowly the smell of burnt flesh came into my nostrils, but it was nothing compared to what I had seen and smelled yesterday. There wasn't much German left to see anyway after being ripped apart in the blast.

"What do you say? Should we give these bastards a taste of their own medicine?" Tucker asked as he walked over to the machine gun. I grinned at the thought and moved to the only other window. Just as Tucker grabbed the MG-42 I bashed the window and poked the barrel of my M1 through it. The Germans in the opposite building got quite a surprise as we opened fire at them almost simultaneously. Our own squad members cast us a surprised glance too before they recognized us and cheered. We turned our fire to any thing else that looked German until we could see no more from where we were.

When we came back outside I saw a part of our company coming around the corner, Shermans in tow. This town wasn't at all that big, but I had a feeling every street was going to be like this. Luckily for us, another squad was elected to scout till the next turn. I pitied the poor guys.

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To Be Continued…

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AN:** There is no excuse that can warrant my inability to update this story. I'm sorry for taking this long, as I'm sure you've all been expecting this to be updated much faster as it is a remake. But I've sort of decided to go a different course. This won't be a remake, and the difference should be obvious after reading the above chapter. I'm going much more into detail and it's already caused me to split up what was to be a single chapter into multiple. Yeah, this can be considered part one. D-day plus one, but it only covers the morning and a bit of the afternoon for now. The next chapter will not jump to the next battle, but actually continue where this one left off. Anyway, please review, you know I like it when you do.

WeirdDutchGuy


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